


Honey Sweet

by Pondermoniums



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Sirens, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Bullying, Canon Universe, Child Neglect, Concerts, Disabled Characters, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Steve, Self Confidence Issues, Sibling Bonding, So does Steve, Soulmates, Steve Becomes a Musician, There will be fun times too, Wings, and humor, bit of a slow burn, self discovery, traumatic injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pondermoniums/pseuds/Pondermoniums
Summary: It’s an understood thing, that one’s wings change over one’s lifetime. Molting and puberty, and all that.But then Billy Hargrove walked into Hawkins with the largest wings any small town teen had ever seen. Bigger than most of the adults’ wings too. And in a land of pubescent snobs where size means a bit too much, the Hargrove kid just became the size king.What does it mean, then, after Steve emerges from the demodog tunnels, and his wings are beyond repair?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 44
Kudos: 262





	1. Here We Go

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to leave this here. Chapters will be on the long side, and therefore slow in coming, but I'm VERY excited for this feathery au.

_No seaman ever sailed his black ship past this spot without listening to the honey-sweet tones that flow from our lips and no one who has listened has not been delighted and gone on his way a wiser man._ (The Sirens, _Odyssey_ 12:186-190)

It’s an understood thing, that one’s wings change over one’s lifetime. Molting and puberty, and all that.

But then Billy Hargrove walked into Hawkins with the largest wings any small town teen had ever seen. Bigger than most of the adults’ wings too. And in a land of pubescent snobs where size means a bit too much, the Hargrove kid just became the size king.

Steve nearly spit out his soda when he overheard Carol asking one of her friends, “Do you think _it_ matches his set? Down there?”

Thankfully, he sat with Jonathan and Nancy, so one collective glance around the table, and they moved their lunches outside.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Nancy voiced to them. Her own brunette wings fluttered unconsciously behind her. Steve noticed Jonathan’s eyes lock onto them and the little smile that happened afterward. Steve used to tease Nancy about her little restless mannerisms, but he got it. Nancy is cute. Her wings are cute. She and Jonathan are in love.

Steve is fine. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for being over it. He no longer felt the snake in his gut at the sight of them, and it was hard to hate Jonathan anyways, what with how the three of them had each other’s backs when shit came to town. Byers was all right, and he treated Nancy well. Steve could be okay with that.

Jonathan replied, “It is kind of impressive, how early he bloomed.”

Nancy smirked at him. “In case you missed it, the girls aren’t asking if he can _glide_.”

Steve picked up, “That’s how it always is, isn’t it? Nobody thinks about what a person can do, just what they look like.”

The pair across from him absorbed that thoughtfully. Steve would know, after all. He had the most unique looking wings in Hawkins. Size-wise, they weren’t spectacular—if anything, they were smaller than most of the skinny pairs tucked under backpacks—but they were beautiful. Dark chocolate feathers, almost black, with big, white speckles. In the summer, the edges and tips turned caramel from the sun and shined like gold.

Most wings just matched the person’s hair color apart from the soft white fluff underneath. Billy’s wings weren’t just large and in charge of the halls. They were almost entirely white, but blushed to the same honey blond of his hair halfway down. He had speckles too, which Steve hadn’t noticed until he heard another girl practically squealing about how his wings matched his freckles.

People used to say Steve’s wings matched inversely to his moles, but whatever.

But it was Steve who noticed Billy’s feathers bent in a clear line across his backside, like he’d been shoved against his car or a bookshelf. Sometimes the ends of his wings were in complete disarray. The guy carried himself like he was ready and willing to fight at all times—certainly tried to drag Steve around with his attitude in gym—but at some point, Steve thought the guy had no sense of self-preservation. Even Tommy, the second biggest hothead in Hawkins now, diffused the instant his wings were in danger.

But not Billy.

Billy, who hounded him on the days he slept the worst. Billy, who shoulder-checked him with little to no regard for knocking Steve’s wing in the process. Steve thought he knew bullying the same way he knew a cocky son of a bitch as easily as looking in the mirror, but Billy was something else.

Steve had tried to be nice to him once—the second time he saw strange impressions in Billy’s feathers during a particularly brutal day in gym. They both had lunch period afterward, so Steve hit up the coffee machine with two paper cups in hand. It had been one of the few times he’d seen Billy winded, and he just felt for the guy, you know? The coffee certainly wasn’t great, but it gave one the stamina to finish the day, at least.

“Here,” he’d said upon delivering it. Billy had just looked at the cup and slowly leaned away to look up at him. “At least you got here as a senior, right? You escaped three whole years of the ex-sergeant’s random military training.”

No response.

“The coffee sucks, by the way, but it gets you through McGregor’s _Crime and Punishment_ lectures.”

Steve left it at that, but he was pretty sure Billy never touched the cup. He frowned from across the cafeteria as the guy dumped and returned his tray…and just left the cup where Steve had put it.

_Okay, fine. It’s not my job to find the pinecone stuck up his ass._

Then Steve won the next basketball game to cheers from his classmates, and that was the end of Billy’s brief period of ignoring him.

It’s some gross humor that the gym teachers assigned their lockers right next to each other. Steve’s expecting it, the hard hit on his shoulder when Billy shows up. It’s a consolation, at least, him having all that muscle. Makes the blows softer. Steve will choose the muscle pillow over a bone bludgeon any day—

Except he catches the elbow of his wing. It freezes the air in Steve’s lungs. For a long minute, he’s genuinely wondering if a bone is broken, or a ligament snapped. It’s been a long time since he had the urge to instantly cry, but _wow,_ does it hit something fierce.

“Keep your tiny flippers out of the way,” Billy remarks as carelessly as always.

But Steve hears it like a siren and shuts his locker without a word. Just grabs his bag and leaves the locker room, ignoring the calls from Tommy and the rest. He knows the coaches will have hell to pay the next they see him, but Steve doesn’t care. He feels like screaming when he slams his car door behind him, and lets himself cry hunched over his steering wheel on his way home.

Ice, an aspirin, and a while later, his wing is fine, but Steve felt emotionally wrung out by then. He thought he knew pain. Jonathan packed a mean fucking punch when it suited him. Nancy dealt worse without hitting him. Hell, a demogorgon should have put Billy to shame, but here lay Steve: crying into his pillow with an icepack on his shoulder while his wing shivered pathetically.

It occurred to him the next day that it would probably not be the teachers who gave him the most shit, but Billy. That asshole had a talent for knowing when Steve was his most vulnerable. Thankfully it was Saturday, so Steve did what Steve does—goes to Nancy’s house. He can tell he isn’t always wanted; half the time Jonathan’s already there, or she’s getting ready to go meet him. But like with all of Mike’s friends, the Wheelers' house was just some sort of unspoken sanctum—

Except he’s intercepted by Dustin.

“Do you still have the bat?” he interrogates while opening Steve’s passenger door.

“ _Bat?_ What bat?” he all but whines. Nancy’s floor had become his resting place since he’d been demoted from boyfriend, but it still smelled nice and it was exactly where Steve wanted to crash his bad mood.

Dustin’s wings flapped even more energetically than Nancy’s, or at least it looks like it with how wild his curly feathers are. “The one with the nails.”

 _Oh no._ “Why?” Steve didn’t bother concealing his anxiety at this kid’s antics.

“I’ll explain it on the way.” Dustin got into his car with no prompt or invitation.

“Wha— _Now?_ ”

“Now!”

All things considered, throwing raw meat around wasn’t the strangest way Steve could be spending his weekend. But leave it to Dustin to be observant. “Hey, what’s wrong with your wing?”

“What?” Steve played off, tossing another handful of pink cubes over the railroad.

“Come on, don’t give me that shit. You’re Steve Harrington. Wings and hair always in dumb, glossy editorial glory.”

Steve frowned, unsure how to process that. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” Dustin apologized. “That was a bit much.”

Steve shrugged and let his hand rest in the bucket. “I have bad days too. Don’t worry about me. It’s your…thing we’re trying to find.”

“Really?”

He glanced up to find imploring eyes in the kid. “Yeah, really. Actually, you know…Nance once told me how you and Mike sometimes got…well…”

“Chewed out by assholes?”

“Uh. Sure. That’s a way of putting it.” _The mouth on this kid, yeesh._

“Yeah, but El scared ‘em off. It was pretty bad ass.”

Eleven. The girl who didn’t have wings. But then again, she didn’t need ‘em.

Steve made sure to look at Dustin when he asked, “Yeah, I’m sure, but like…that hasn’t happened since, right?”

Dustin shrugged at the ground. “Some kids still have garbage things to say, but I know it’s coming from jealousy. It’s kind of amazing how worked up they get over _my_ grades.”

“Those things don’t come so easily for other people as they do for you. Everybody’s got something. I got the hair, but you actually got the stuff underneath it.”

Dustin’s lips parted as he looked up at Steve, who held his gaze before tossing beef ahead of them. “All I’m saying is, I’m an option, all right? If that shit starts up again. You don’t have to put up with it.”

He heard Dustin swallow and look back down in his peripheral. Then, “No offense, because that’s really cool of you, but I’d sooner tell Jonathan. I mean, he did beat the shit out of you.”

“Wow. Okay.”

Dustin chuckled. “So are you gonna tell me what happened to your wing?”

“Not a chance.”

Except Hawkins had a real talent for going to hell in an afternoon. Steve made sure Dustin stood behind him when it came knocking on the Byers’ door, even though it turned out to be Eleven knocking demodogs around. The whole house breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her.

But then Steve _was_ the only option. Because Will and Joyce needed Jonathan, and Jonathan needed Nancy. Thus Steve became in charge of the kids. They were just as pleased as he was. While arguing with them, Steve felt like he was cleaning up after their over-excited wings knocking things over more than Upside-Down mayhem—

A sound cut through the air, turning each of their heads, but most prominently, Max’s. The cupcake of the night was being iced with the crescendo roar of Billy’s Camaro.

“He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me—he’ll kill us,” Max exclaimed as gravel bit underneath tires. Steve didn’t know how the douche bag fit himself in that vehicle but more importantly, what kind of sister talks about her brother like that? Steve may be an only child, but he knew that’s not how family is supposed to work.

“Stay in here and stay quiet,” Steve announced, and shut the front door behind him.

He had to admit to being impressed by Billy’s smooth step out of his car. It really defied physics—as if Steve would know anything about physics—fitting those wings in a Camaro.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?”

 _Here we go_ , Steve sighed to himself. “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

He focused on not tripping off the Byers’ porch. He didn’t need to see Billy’s smirk around his cigarette, but the removal of his leather jacket was worth noting. Asshole’s always ready to fight.

“What’re you doing here, amigo? Last place I expected to see you after you skipped school crying yesterday.”

Steve didn’t bite the bait. “It makes more sense for me to be here than you.”

“Oh yeah. That weird three-wheeling you do with the guy who took Nancy Wheeler. Well…birds of a feather, maybe. This whole town reeks of weird flocks. I’m more of a pack animal, myself.”

“Cute,” Steve hushed. “Then what brings you out here all on your lonesome?”

He could hear the bristle in Billy’s tone but he wasn’t sure if it was because of him or not. “Looking for my stepsister. Little birdie told me she was here.”

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her. Frankly, never would’ve guessed you’d have a sister.”

“Small? Redhead? Bit of a bitch.”

 _Jesus, this guy needs to leave_ , Steve silently fumed. And besides that, El threw a freaking demodog through the window. How many more were lurking in the woods, keeping tabs on the house? “Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, buddy.”

“You seem a little distracted,” Billy pushed.

“Yeah, well, you know. Things go bump out here.”

Billy stared at him. “You’re not telling me you’re afraid of the dark.”

“Not afraid, no, but I think I have a better awareness of what’s out there than you do. So why don’t you run along home nice and fast, amigo.”

But Billy didn’t seem motivated to go anywhere. He took another drag from his cigarette and grimaced. “You know…I don’t know, this… This whole situation, Harrington, I don’t know. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Steve can’t help but huff a laugh. _You have a low tolerance, then._ “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day…and then I find her here with _you_ , in a _stranger’s_ house. And then you lie to me about it? Why are you here, then?”

“The Byers’ aren’t strangers. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the strange one here, walking into town like you own it just because some genetic protein gave your wings a boost ahead of everyone else.”

Billy grinned but Steve didn’t share his mirth. “I’m baby-sitting. Will’s got friends who need looking after. It’s more than you can say.”

“Will Byers…” He let the name roll around in his brain. “The kid with one wing? Heard he caused quite the commotion last year. Heard his brother’s a real creep. Makes his, yours, and Wheeler’s thing even more…disturbing.”

“Look, I don’t know what bullshit you’re carrying around from home, but why don’t you take it back and stay there. I want you to leave. Leave me and the _tiny flippers_ alone.”

“No can do. Because one of those tinies is a pain in my ass, and if I don’t bring her home…” Steve waited for the end of that sentence, but whatever flickered in Billy’s eyes vanished behind cocky bravado. “Well. I guess I don’t have to paint a picture. I’m the one trying to return a kid home while you’re keeping her at a house already holding the reputation for a kid going missing.”

Steve couldn’t help but smirk. If Billy really thought he could pull the law into this, he had one hell of a surprise coming in the form of Sheriff Hopper.

“Even if I’d seen her, do you really think I’d let a kid go off with a hot head like you?” His eyes flicked down to Billy’s tongue doing an odd lap around his lips. Billy certainly liked being the big, bad senior, but he looked younger while doing that childish gesture. “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I’m saying. She’s not here.”

Billy leaned in close. Real close. Steve’s breath held in his chest as Billy pointed with his cigarette. “Then who is that?”

Steve knew it was a bad idea the second he looked over his shoulder. Four heads in a row stared at them from inside the house. Steve could hear Dustin’s muffled voice, “Shit! Did he see us?”

“Oh shit,” he groaned, pivoting back around. “Listen—”

Billy shoved him, _hard_. Steve might as well have been a domino knocked clean off his feet.

The crisp sound of a bone snapping underneath him registered faster than the agony itself. Steve lay as still as he could but his own momentum rocked him over the pavement. Distantly, he heard Billy over him, “I told you to keep your flippers out of the way.”

The kick in his gut was really unnecessary. Now Steve couldn’t move or breathe. He had no idea what Billy had against him, but the guy seemed really intent on killing him tonight.

Steve heard the Byers’ door smash open and slam closed. He heard the rattled voices of the kids and then Lucas’s name. Tears streaming down his face, Steve pushed himself up, sucking in air despite his blown out stomach. He didn’t have the mental capacity or the time to open the door, so he crashed through it—

“You are SO DEAD, Sinclair!”

Steve, red-faced and glistening, turned him around by the elbow of his wing. “No. You are.”

He couldn’t say if it was one of his better punches. It sent Billy reeling, but Steve all but collapsed against the wall. Jolts of the most mind-numbing pain he’d ever felt shot through his shoulder, lungs, and arm. Something was definitely broken, but fresh tears just slipped over his cheeks as he watched Billy laugh and laugh.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” Steve stood as tall as he could while Billy gestured grandiosely and approached him with a bloody nose. “I’ve been waiting to meet this _King Steve_ everybody’s been telling me _so much_ about.”

Steve had a lot of fucking things to say but now wasn’t the time. He couldn’t speak for Max, but the rest of the kids had probably never seen a real fight in their lives. They didn’t need Billy’s bullshit.

His voice came out hoarse and gravelly as he shoved Billy back a step. _“Get out.”_

Well.

One might say _A for Effort_ but his grades had always been shit.

He ducked under Billy’s swing but he couldn’t help but feel like, in the middle of his punches, that Billy was letting him have the hits. Then he waited too long for the next one. Billy used the milliseconds to grab a plate Steve didn’t see in time.

“Holy shit,” Mike’s voice exclaimed behind him. Steve stumbled backward, his shoes slipping on the shards while he tried to quickly gauge how fucked his face was—were his eyes okay—

Billy wrenched him up by his jacket, eliciting a high-pitched breath from his chest as the fabric forced his wings to move.

_“Nobody tells me what to do.”_

The last thing Steve expected was for Billy to head butt him, but Billy’s muscle was finally working as a disadvantage to Steve. He careened backwards, and as he slid across the papers taped to the floor, Steve knew he was done. Lungs could only have the air knocked from them so many times in as many minutes, and all he could hear were Billy’s footsteps and his bones grating together.

* * *

The boys could only stare as Steve Harrington got worse than they’d ever seen, but Max found one of the medications used to sedate Will, and moved quietly forward.

One jab. Push the plunger down. That’s all she needed.

Billy froze, turning to her and fumbling for the odd pain in his neck. He stared dumbly at the syringe. A syringe? What the hell were the Byers into that they just had a syringe lying around? “The hell is this?”

The room began to spin. “You…little shit. What did you do?”

At least, that’s what he thought he said, but he was falling, falling backwards. His large, fully wings caught him. Not like the little runts’ pairs, no. His were strong and full—

“AGH!” he drunkenly bellowed as Max pressed her foot over one. Through slit eyes, he saw a…a bat? What the hell’s on the end of it?

“From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

“Screw you,” he mumbled. _Stupid punk—_

A sharp crunch landed between his legs. Billy could only stare at Max wrenching the bat off the floor an inch from his balls. First a syringe, now a bat with nails?

“Say you understand! Say it. SAY IT!”

He sighed. The room was spinning too much for this shit. “I understand.”

“What?”

Maybe he really wasn’t good at speaking right now. His throat worked around a swallow. “I understand.”

The bat landed somewhere nearby. What the hell is taped to the ceiling? Billy couldn’t tell if the drug was doing more than sedate him or if the Byers were really as fucking weird as he’d accused…

Something moved in his jeans pocket. The jangling of his keys.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Feet rushed around him. One of the boys hollered above him, “Steve? Steve! You need to wake up!”

“We can’t take him with us. He didn’t want us to go in the first place. We gotta get to the McCorkle Farm _now_!”

“He’ll be cool! I promise, he’s just worried and trying to do right by Nancy. You should’ve seen him at the junkyard! It was awesome.”

“Just take him, already, because it’s not gonna be good if Billy’s the first one to wake up.”

Billy pushed his mind through the fog. “No…hold on.”

Trying to lift himself up may as well have been the same as lifting his car, but he managed to roll himself onto his side to see Steve’s legs being dragged through the front door. “Not…Hey…not my car, you little shits!”

“Is he waking up?”

“Oh shit! Go! We gotta go!”

“Uh, guys? I think Steve’s wings are broken. These things don’t look right.”

“How’s he waking up? That stuff knocks the Mind Flayer out, cold!”

“It knocks _Will_ out. Will’s smaller than Billy! Hurry up!”

“No no no! Everybody cram into the back! Steve’s needs to lie on his stomach! Put the front seat down!”

Billy managed to get himself onto his stomach but dragging himself across the floor was another matter. Really, what the hell was with all the papers everywhere? “Hey! Hey!”

He watched in drugged horror as Max revved his car and swerved a wide doughnut on the front lawn. By the time he managed to climb to his feet and lean against the doorjamb, his car was a long ways down the street.

* * *

“AAAHHHELLO!”

“Incredible!” Mike exhaled.

“I told you,” Max said while swiping her seatbelt off. “Zoomer.”

 _This is the worst night of my life. Thisistheworstnightofmylife_ , Steve chanted as he struggled to get out of the vehicle. He succeeded in throwing himself onto all fours in the hard, spiked grass, leaves, and hay. “Guys…” he groaned.

However, the kids were more than intent on getting a heap of supplies out of Billy’s trunk. Steve’s attempts to herald them went unheard until he picked himself up and took the junk out of Dustin’s hands.

“ _Hello?_ We are _not_ going down there right now. I made myself _clear_! Hey! There’s no _chance_ we’re going down that hole, all right? This ends right now!”

“STEVE,” Dustin corralled. “You’re upset. I get it. You’re stressed, and you’re in a lot of pain. But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance. Now I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe, but I think we both know that you’re not really cut out for it right now. Your wings are broken. It’s okay that you stay up here and act as our lighthouse—”

“You’re absolutely crazy if you think you’re going in there without me!” he erupted before he meant to.

A moment of silence passed before Dustin handed him a bandana and goggles. “Then keep us safe.”

Definitely the worst night of his life.

Dustin helped him cut the straps of a backpack to go through his belt loops to hold his bat, and then he let himself fall gracelessly into the godforsaken hole. There was definitely a lot broken in his back, but that didn’t stop him from yanking the map out of Mike’s hands. “I don’t think so. Any of you little shits die down here, I’m getting the blame. Got it, dipshit? From here on out, _I’m_ leading the way. Come on, let’s go.”

Something must’ve been in his tone, because for once they didn’t broker any argument and actually followed behind him. “Come on. Hey, a little hustle!”

* * *

 _McCorkle Farm_ , Billy replayed in his brain. The longer he spent out in the cold night, the more awake he felt. _That’s the…the pumpkin patch place, right?_

His wings caught on tree branches even without his drugged up clumsiness. Fucking Hawkins was all trees and narrow roads; no place to spread his wings properly. He could _try_ going above the tree line, but there wasn’t any point if he didn’t know where he was going in the first place—

 _McCorkle Farm 2.1 miles_ , read a road sign. Under it stood another sign on a wooden post: _Patch CANCELLED this year!_

Billy took a moment to just hold onto the sign, gulping down the fresh night air. “Why the hell would you shit birds go to a closed pumpkin patch?”

* * *

“All right, Wheeler. I think we found your hub.”

As good as it felt to finally be in the intersection of the inter-dimensional tunnels, it felt like the heart of danger and it was all Steve could do to keep his breathing even.

“Let’s drench it,” Mike announced.

Steve left them to it, remaining by their exit tunnel and keeping an eye on the trail of gasoline they left behind them. “No, splash that part again. If we want the flame to travel all the way from here, it can’t be patchy.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Dustin announced conversationally. Steve already had his metal lighter in hand, fidgeting the cap open, closed, open, closed. “What’s the point of us having wings? With modern stuff like cars and planes—”

“Aw, come on. This again,” Lucas complained.

Mike picked up. “We’re faster in planes and cars.”

“Yeah but it still doesn’t make sense. We’ve got all these anti-flight laws because of ‘safety,’ but like…we’ve got these wings just like we’ve got arms and legs. We’re not in the wrong. Why not just make things safe instead of keeping us from supposed danger?”

Max wondered with a helpless glance at Steve, “Is now really the time for this?”

“It’s the corporate entanglement, man, I’m telling you,” Lucas repeated like this was an age-old argument. “The government wants money. Corporations make money. Governments get the money but wind up giving corporations the power. It’s all about keeping the little wings down so the big wings fly on that green air. Shit, after we discovered the Upside-Down and how aware the government already is about it? They definitely don’t give a shit about our _safety_.”

Steve pushed a careful breath out of his bruised lungs. “Let’s just focus on not lighting ourselves up, yeah? Feathers make excellent tinder.”

Dustin’s head snapped up. “That’s scary shit, Steve! Don’t say that!”

“Then let’s get this done and done right. Move it.”

“The hole’s just up there,” Mike announced, “We should stop here to allow for the fire to expand without reaching us.”

Steve liked the sound of that. “Alright, you guys ready?”

A chorus of, “Ready,” sounded as they huddled behind him.

“Light her up,” Dustin confirmed.

The only thing that smelled worst than these tunnels, were the tunnels on fire. Steve had to admit, it felt like a job well done, seeing the black and grey tentacles along the floors writhe and scream. It was less gratifying to know that they could’ve moved this whole time. Light and heat engorged behind them as they booked it back to the exit—

“Help! Help!”

“Steve! STEVE!”

He barely had time to think. He doubled back for Mike, who was quickly getting wrapped up in an angry tentacle. “MOVE! Get out of the way!”

Raising the bat over his head the first time made him see dark spots.

The second made him see white.

The third made it so he wasn’t sure if he was passing out, dying, or if his eyes had so overflowed with tears that his goggles had fogged up—

One of those echo-locating screams reverberated around them, and then it was the kids in front of Steve. He gripped Dustin’s shoulder while the latter chirped, “d’Art?”

Then he was moving and Steve was losing his crutch, and Dustin was walking face first to a demodog and—

 _Plant your feet. Plant your feet. Plantyourfeet._ He gripped the bat as Dustin talked to it, removed his backpack for something inside.

A chocolate bar. A freaking chocolate bar. Dustin waved them around the feasting demodog and Steve vowed to berate the kid later. Cleaning out a candy aisle would have been loads cheaper than pounds of fresh beef. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that expense to his parents when the credit card bill arrived.

The tunnel began to tremble. That was never a good sign in the movies. Knees knocked as the rope came within sight. “There! It’s there!”

“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Steve heaved Max up first. She was the fittest and had kept up with him the best; it made sense to have her up top to haul the others up. Steve worked on autopilot now. Adrenaline numbed everything except the biggest lightning bolts of pain that made his vision vignette and distort.

“DUSTIN! Come on!”

“Climb! Dustin!”

Steve whirled around, a different sound now close enough to overlap the kids’ voices. He gripped his bat and braced himself beside Dustin. They were out of time.

“Dustin! Come on!”

“Climb the freaking rope!”

The force of demodogs sprinting past Steve whirled him around. His arm clipped Dustin, swinging him around too. Between Dustin and the rope, Steve gaped at the herd of creatures completely ignoring them—

“What the hell are those?”

Dustin’s head jerked up the same moment Steve crumpled to the ground and Max exclaimed, “Billy!”

“Is somebody gonna explain to me what in god’s name—?”

Mike yelled, “Pull Dustin up! You need to pull Dustin up!”

But the kid himself screamed, “Steve’s down! Oh my god! Steve’s passing out! Steve? STEVE!”

Dustin startled at a large weight landing next to him, then outright screeched at Billy hoisting him up by his front. “Climb, dirt bag!”

The kid had the wherewithal to do that much, at least, and then Billy held a hand over his face. “Ugh, Jesus, what is that smell? What’s all this shit in the air?”

“PULL STEVE UP!” the kids shouted collectively above him.

Billy pursed his lips at all twelve of them and shook his head for clarity as he crouched over Steve. The bag hanging from his waist would have to go. With quick hisses from the straps, it fell away as Billy lifted him up. “Look alive, pretty boy.”

He gave Steve some harmless slaps through the bandana before he had to come to terms that Steve definitely wasn’t able to climb. Frankly, he didn’t know why the guy was down here at all after a fight had knocked him out cold.

“Jesus,” Billy sighed, letting the guy slump onto his front while he examined their situation and how to get out of it…

Movement on Steve’s back locked his gaze onto his dirtied, shivering wings. The feathers had been scraped off the edge of one, if the elbow crusted in blood was any indication. “Hey, your wings are actually the right size to do something in here. Steve, I’m talking to y—”

He touched Steve’s wing that wasn’t bloodied up, and the whine that burst out of him had the kids flinching from their perch around the hole.

“They’re broken,” Max said. “You broke his wings.”

 _Both of them,_ Billy realized as Steve sobbed in and out of consciousness.

“Steve,” he tried again, this time taking off the stupid goggles since all they were doing was collecting tears. “Look at me. You remember rope climbing in gym? You remember that?”

Some sort of awareness moved his gaze around Billy’s face. “Remember when our asshole, ex-military coach had us carry each other up the rope? Do you remember that?”

Steve’s eyes flicked down to the gold pendant dangling near his face, then back up. A slight nod. “Then hold onto me.”

He knelt so Steve’s arms could hold his elbows around Billy’s neck. Then his legs crossed weakly around Billy’s waist. “Hold on tight,” he threw over his shoulder. Steve didn’t feel confident on his back—more like he would slip off at any second—but it was all they had.

Billy had actually struggled during that gym class. He’d certainly done better than most of the others—if nothing else, than in sheer drive and persistence—but he’d worked on building up his weight training ever since.

The rope in gym had been thicker, though. Thicker and made with proper hemp. Billy tried to wrap his hand as well as his wrist with the smooth, plastic threads but with two people drawing it taut, he just had to grit and bear them both. At least the hole ramped like a funnel, so once Billy managed to get over the lip, the kids pulled Steve off his backside.

“Steve! Come on, buddy, into the car, come on. Lie on the seat again and we’ll get you out of here—”

Billy sat up only to flinch behind his hand as the Camaro’s headlights glowed brighter than high beams. Hell, as bright as stadium lights. He glanced at the Wheeler kid when he said a word. Billy could have sworn he said, “Eleven,” but the number seemed a bit too random despite the night’s events.

When the lights faded back to normal illumination, the kids exchanged glances with one another. Billy got to his feet. “Who’s going to tell me why there’s a slimy tunnel underneath a pumpkin patch?”

They flinched from him like they’d forgotten he was there. Dustin called from the car, “It’s easier if you just come with us back to the Byers’ place.”

“Why would I go back there? I’m asking about here—”

“Steve put a demodog in the fridge for me,” Dustin drawled like he was already jaded with this discussion. “It’s easier to tell you with evidence. Let’s go, already.”

“A what?” Billy breathed, but the kids were filing back to the car. Then the real test of the night happened: six people in one Camaro.

* * *

Steve felt the desert in his throat first. And then he heard the mechanic beeping. It took him a long time to get his eyes open properly, and then he realized it was because he lay face down. Something brown entered his vision, and the longer he focused on it, the better he saw her. “Nancy?”

She smiled with a relieved, “ _Hey_. Drink this. Try not to move too much.”

Dustin shot into view, but Steve desperately gulped from the straw she leveled with his mouth. The water was the best he’d ever tasted.

“Steve! Oh my god, you scared the shit out of us.”

“Take it easy, Dustin, he just woke up. The doctor said he might not even stay conscious for long.”

“Thewater’sdelicious,” he slurred around the straw.

She and Dustin giggled. Steve drank until he gulped air, and then he just focused on trying to make his brain stop teetering. Nancy’s hand rubbing the middle of his back felt nice. Distant, mostly, like his back was numb or something—

“Nance,” he chirped.

“Hm?” she chimed back, but her content smile broke against his red-rimmed eyes.

“A-Are they gone?” he whispered. Her expression began to fade into something else, and Steve didn’t like it. The worry and the sympathetic hurt. Then her face blurred behind tears.

“Are they gone? Are they _gone_?” he sobbed, his body shuddering with his hysterical breaths. “Are they gone, Nancy—”

“Steve, shh, shhh, you need to calm down…”

But Steve could feel the choice as if his feet had arrived at the edge of a cliff. The choice of staying awake or letting his brain bail out of the situation entirely. He let himself lean and fall into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear you guys's thoughts! I fell so hard into this fandom and it's just been a dream to land on so many incredible writers and warm community.
> 
> [Twitter~](https://twitter.com/Pondermoniums)  
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	2. Three Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD, I can't believe I didn't link what inspired this story in the first place. [THIS ART~](https://fwutterr.tumblr.com/post/622025763321987072/harringrove-boys-with-wings) is just so cute and wholesome. 10/10. I took one look at it and started writing.
> 
> Also PLEASE NOTE! I've added tags since this and the next chapter are pretty hospital-heavy.
> 
> And lastly, THANK YOU for all of your incredible responses to chapter 1! I wanted to reply to each of you (and still might) but I thought getting a 2nd chapter to you as fast as I could would be a better thank you haha I hope you enjoy!

“Steve? Mr. Harrington?”

His head lolled on his shoulders. He realized several hands were holding him upright. His vision focused on a man with silver, curly hair and matching wings behind his lab coat.

“There you are. We figured a change in posture might suit you. Laying down is nice but sitting gives your face a rest, and…well you could use a lot of rest, son. My name is Dr. Owens.”

“The sketchy doctor,” Steve rasped. Jonathan had talked about him.

“Well…yeah. Yeah, that one.” At least he owned up to it. “Listen, it’s perfectly all right if none of this sinks in now. You’re still very much in the recovery phase of this. Just know that we’ve got the hospital under our jurisdiction.”

“Secrets. Got it.”

“On the contrary, I meant that you can speak freely to the nurses about your pain or symptoms, and of course, your friends—”

A machine chimed a melody he didn’t understand, but a plastic mask went over his mouth and nose. “You’ve smoked before, right? Plenty of teens do, but you understand the general premise. Inhale and hold it for a moment.”

The nurse held a button on the pressurized can and Steve blinked against the rush of air. As he held the oxygen in his lungs, he felt heat spreading throughout his chest. Things seemed clearer now; the light was kinder on his eyes, the dark vignette eased, and sounds didn’t echo in his skull. The nurse administered one more burst and then the plastic tubing of a nasal cannula went behind his ears.

“You’re still experiencing the shock effects from exposure,” Dr. Owens explained while Steve gently touched the prongs framing his septum. “Time and a steady flow of oxygen will settle things down. I’m gonna need to ask you to not move your arms too much. Your right scapula is fractured. Your shoulder blade.”

Steve swallowed dryly. “When can I lay down?”

Dr. Owens whistled over a clipboard. “Ooh not for a while yet. Not to worry, we already patched you up, but it took a lot of metal, son. That’s why you probably feel like a train hit you.”

“No, just a Hargrove.”

“Hm? I’m sorry?”

“Nothin’. Are we done?”

He caught Dr. Owens with his mouth open but he reluctantly nodded. “Sure. That can be all for now. I’ve given your friends leave to come and go—actually, they demanded it. But just tell a nurse if you don’t want visitors. If it’s any consolation, you’re exempt from finishing your autumn semester, and your spring semester has become optional.”

Steve raised his eyes in a deadpan glare. “ ‘Scuse me?”

Dr. Owens cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “The young lady…Miss Wheeler, as well as Mr. Byers, drive hard bargains. Technically, you already have your high school diploma, since it’s going to take some time for you to heal up. Then there’s the matter of your physical therapy. So…congratulations on graduating early.”

Steve didn’t have it in him to process or appreciate that last bit, but he repeated quietly, “Therapy. What do you mean, physical therapy?”

Dr. Owens’ head tilted with mutual misunderstanding. “Similar to the sort of routine athletes go through for injury recovery and prevention. After your wings heal, you’ll want to be able to move them again, I assume?”

Steve’s eyes searched his face. It had to be a joke. But what doctor jokes like that? A classified government one, maybe…

He tried to mentally check in with his body, but his painkillers only made him aware of the hands on his chest and lower back keeping him upright. “I still have my wings?”

“Indeed,” the doc pressed his lips in a smile, but Steve knew fake when it stared him in the face.

“What’s wrong with them?”

Dr. Owens made the papers on the clipboard flutter before he set it down. He faced Steve with a heavy sigh. “I’ll be honest with you, Steve. It’s easier to say what’s right with your wings. You came to us in bad shape. Rest assured, your feathers should grow back—it’s routine to remove feathers for surgery. Really, a standard, no brainer—but with the amount of titanium it took to…to put you back together, son… I’m afraid the chance of your wings growing beyond what they are now is slim. Extremely slim. You won’t be able to fly.”

Steve absorbed that…and decided he’d rather be hit with a train, after all.

He could feel his eyes sinking lower in their sockets as he murmured, “Why didn’t you just take ‘em?”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’re useless. Why didn’t you just cut them off?”

Dr. Owens openly gaped at him. Steve felt the hands on him adjust nervously, hold him a little tighter. “That procedure could kill you. The aviary musculature is crucially integrated with your spine and nervous system—”

“You took Will’s.”

“William Byers is a walking miracle who nearly had his wing torn off completely! There wasn’t any way we could reattach it, or we would have.”

“But I’m just Steve,” he finished. “I get it.”

He heard Dr. Owens heave a breath, but Steve cut off whatever he intended to say. “I don’t want visitors today.”

The doc and nurses exchanged glances but the former nodded with a, “I’ll let them know,” and the nurses went about changing the table in front of him. They slotted into place what looked like the end of a massage table, but on either side of the face hole were slits for his nasal cannula tubes. Hydraulics whirred under him as his seat unfolded back into a bed, but before Steve was placed over the doughnut pillow, he threw up over the side of the bed.

* * *

Nancy, with Jonathan close on her heels, shot up when Dr. Owens entered the waiting room. All of the kids sitting on either side of Billy leaned forward. They gave him a wide berth but there were only so many seats in the place. Lucas gave Dustin a nudge, cutting off his snores.

“Is he awake?” Wheeler exclaimed.

“Yes, but probably not for long. He’s requested that we withhold visitors for today.”

Jonathan frowned. “ _You said_ the hospital visiting hours didn’t apply to us—”

“ _Unless_ the patient wishes otherwise,” he curtailed with limited patience. “Mr. Harrington’s comfort is the utmost important thing here, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want anyone to see him today. As his doctor, I agree it’s the right call. He’s still in the throes of exposure shock. As his friends, I should think you would respect his wishes. This time period is humbling and can be hard on a patient’s self esteem.”

“Exposure shock?” Mike chirped. “But I’m fine. We’re all fine. You’re lying to us.”

“No, he isn’t.”

Heads turned to the young voice of Will. Billy couldn’t claim to be well acquainted with the kid, but he knew when someone was too skinny. He didn’t fully understand the story the kids had unloaded on him a couple nights ago, but he grasped the biggest details of Will being a big deal, and the reason Steve had been alone with the kids.

“The Upside-Down affects people differently. You guys might be fine, but…Nancy, you were fine after being in that forest, right? But me and the sheriff suffered pretty badly.”

Dr. Owens gave them the time to process that before agreeing, “Mr. Harrington is showing the same symptoms as Hopper and Will, so we know how to handle it. As I told him myself, just time and a little extra oxygen will put him to rights.”

Nancy intercepted, “But—what about his wings? Aren’t you going to tell us about his injuries?”

Billy shifted in his seat. Why the hell were hospital chairs so uncomfortable? It was like they wanted you to leave, not wait. At least they placed the chairs away from the walls so his wings had space.

The doctor shook his head. “Not without Mr. Harrington’s consent.”

Nancy opened her mouth, her voice already in full force to argue before he cut short, “That’s not my rule, Miss Wheeler. It’s the State of Indiana’s as well as general practice among all medical professionals to keep a patient’s medical history and goings-on confidential. Besides,” he glanced around the room with a lingering weight on Billy, “most of you were with him when it happened. I should think you understand his circumstances nearly as well as I do. And when he wakes up? He can tell you whatever he likes.

“Until then, since you and Jonathan conned your way into shutting down the Library, I’m currently just a regular doctor. Therefore, please excuse me. I have other patients to see.”

He made his way down the hall to the elevators. Nancy, meanwhile, knocked Dustin’s hat off with her wings. “Oh! God, I’m so sorry, Dustin.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered flatly, accepting Max’s picking it up. “Thanks.”

Both Nancy and Jonathan looked at him, the former reaching for his shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Dustin pressed his lips together, internally debating his options before he said, “No. Not really.”

He pushed his hat further over his hair so the curls shadowed his eyes, and went back to his seat. Nancy looked to Jonathan for guidance, but he shrugged. “Maybe we all need time too… What? What’re you thinkin’?”

Billy looked up at Nancy’s jaw ticking as she stepped to the side to see down the hall. “Owens put Steve’s papers on that desk.”

Jonathan glanced around but said, “You’re not thinking of stealing it?”

She grimaced with her own shrug. “So what? Owens can play doctor all he wants, but that doesn’t mean this place isn’t being run by government assholes. It won’t matter if we take it. We just have to get it long enough to read it. That lady’s been sitting in that chair for…how long have we been here?”

Jonathan sighed so that his lips flapped together over his watch. “Four hours? Almost five.”

“She hasn’t gotten up once. For the bathroom or otherwise.”

“You wanna register her in a union?”

The soft snort in Billy’s throat earned some glances.

“No, I mean she’s got to be getting up sometime soon. That’s when we lift the papers.”

Understanding dawned on his features and he nodded. “I’ll get ‘em. You might knock something over.”

“Excuse you!”

He caught her playful swat against his arm and held her hand while they leaned against the wall to wait. They didn’t have to endure for long. Nancy squeezed Jonathan’s hand for his attention when the woman rolled her chair back to stand. She moved with the reticence of someone who had been sitting for far too long, but when the bathroom door swung shut behind her, Jonathan strolled smoothly to the desk.

Nancy and Mike all but landed on him when he returned. Will needed a little more time getting up, but Mike threw an arm around him to make room over the file. Jonathan held something up. “Is this what our diplomas will look like? They already printed it.”

“Yeah, they work fast,” Nancy groaned, less impressed. She picked up the x-rays. “Hold these? I want the prognosis underneath.”

“Gimme those!” Mike claimed, and Will laughed as he went to the window to hold up the ghoulish before and after shots of Steve’s wings. The other kids crowded around the x-rays, but Billy didn’t have to glance at them for long to see how many bright pieces of metal held the bones together…

Nancy slowly made her way to a seat before sinking into it. Jonathan joined her, reading over her shoulder, “Six months mandatory physical therapy, up to two years…”

“Bone development: nullified,” Nancy finished with a worried look at him. “Nullified? What does that mean? Does that—does that mean…?”

One by one, the kids rotated from the window. Dustin said in the quiet, “His wings stopped growing?”

Jonathan pointed lower on the page. “Flight: nullified. Patient’s likelihood to develop applicable wingspan is moot.”

“Moot! That means it’s not a definite thing,” Nancy pushed. “It’s subject for debate! It means they’ll wait and see… Right?”

Jonathan didn’t have the answer they wanted, nor did the papers. He could only shake his head and be honest. “I don’t know.”

Nancy’s eyes overflowed with tears, which she caught in her hands as she planted her elbows on her knees. “Oh…god! Poor Steve! When he first woke up, he was scared to death his wings were gone. But is this worse?”

Will came to sit on Jonathan’s other side. “At least he won’t be lopsided.”

His brother slid an arm over his shoulders and drew him into a tight hug against his chest. Jonathan kissed his hair, and that was all Billy could take. Rising and striding out of the waiting room, he heard Nancy say, “Will, I’m so sorry. I’m inconsiderate saying that…”

“It’s okay. Nothing about this is easy for any of us. I may have had the Mind Flayer in me a couple days ago, but…I think Steve’s stronger than we really know. He helped you and my brother fight the demogorgon last year, right?”

The hospital’s doors slid shut behind him. It had begun to drizzle outside. Billy watched tiny sparks bounce out of his lighter’s flame as he inhaled a long drag. He had no idea why the Wheelers, Byers, and everyone else were tolerating him. When he showed up to the hospital, they had every reason to kick his ass out of there; or raise a commotion so the hospital staff—which apparently consisted of armed guards—did it for them.

Instead, they’d just looked up, and right back down as he found his seat. Like it wasn’t his fault Steve was here in the first place. Apparently knowing about the…whatever the Upside-Down was, granted special perks. Welcome to the top secret club in Hawkins. Billy hadn’t caught up with all the details yet. Seeing the goddamn dog _thing_ that fell out of the Byers’ fridge had thrown him in a way he didn’t know could shake him.

Then Sheriff Hopper of all people had shown up with guns hanging from his shoulders and a kid who didn’t have fucking wings at all, and immediately took Steve to the hospital. Billy almost forgot his original agenda in the first place until he and Max finally parked at their house. Neil and Susan could only stare at both of them caked in mud with the odd leaf sticking out of their hair or feathers. Of course Neil turned livid eyes on him—

“Leave him alone.”

Three heads turned to Max. Her mother came forward to inspect her closely, to hold her shoulders. “Max? Please, you’ve been missing all day. We were worried sick. Tell us what happened.”

“Nothing happened. I ran out. It’s my fault, not his. Me and my friends were playing in the pumpkin fields since they were closed.”

Neil blinked wide eyes at Billy. “And you thought you’d just hang out and smash pumpkins too? Is that it?”

“I said leave him alone. We’ve been dealing with pigs all night.”

Susan and Neil stared at them for a long time. “ _Pigs?_ ” Susan enunciated.

“Yeah. Big ones. They got loose from the neighboring farm. Turns out, pigs like pumpkins. Since we were trespassing, the farmers made us round them up. Billy helped deal with them.”

Max could be really shit at lying, but it was one of her finer moments. Since it was also well past midnight, not even Neil had it in him to inquire too much further. He only stopped Billy on his way to his room, to which Billy uttered quietly, “I’ve got vines stuck under my car, and my tire tracks are in the McCorkle fields if you don’t believe us. Check for yourself.”

He knew Neil never followed up with the latter, because that hole was certainly subject for interrogation.

Billy heard someone step near him and peeked at the Owens guy likewise inhaling nicotine. Then he just had to talk. “Thought I knew everyone who was involved in all this. You’re a new face.”

Billy almost didn’t respond, but since this guy apparently worked for some Area 51 type shit, he was probably just being polite and already knew all of Billy’s details. “I’m not from Hawkins.”

“You’re in high school, though?” Owens whistled and shook his head at the rain beyond the drop-off tunnel over their heads. “You’re an anomaly with those wings, son.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fair enough. Still, are you eighteen?”

“Next month.”

“ _Seventeen?_ Most kids take it slow and steady. When did you bloom?”

Billy grimaced at him. “I don’t know, some months ago?”

The doc raised his chin to blow his smoke up. “You look a good deal older than seventeen. Must’ve been painful.”

“I don’t really remember it.” Billy could recall sweating _a lot_. He thought California got hot with the sun overhead and reflecting off the water, concrete, and sand, but fuck. Hawkins was next level. Maybe that’s why he barely remembered it—hard to recall anything when you’re teetering in and out of a heat stroke the whole time. He’d spent the end of his summer sweating, molting, moving boxes, and dreading his senior year.

A sound turned Billy’s head to look at the doctor. “What? What’s funny?”

“Oh, nothing’s funny. I was just thinking about your condition. People always get so spiritual when it concerns our wings.”

Billy’s features pinched toward the center of his face. “Spirituality’s got nothing to do with a growth spurt.”

“I agree. I’m a man of science, after all. But…eventually you have to look the things science can’t explain dead in the face. Take Eleven, for example.”

Right. The kid named with a number. Billy thought that was pretty fucked up.

“Science may have resulted in her being born without wings, but nothing can really account for her mental abilities.”

Billy huffed smoke and stepped on his cigarette butt. “You trying to tell me that you use spirituality to explain the rest?”

“I’m saying I like to read in my spare time. For some people it’s novels, but I like the old siren legends. They put things into whimsical perspective. Sometimes it reads like our ancestors had things better figured out than we do.”

Billy knew the books he meant. His mother had liked those stories. It was all poetry mostly, but she sang the stories to him. Hummed him to sleep.

“Whimsical walked out on me years ago.” Billy turned to slink towards his car—

“Would be intriguing to look into. See what the ancients have to say. I’m sure you aren’t the first one to bloom spontaneously.” Dr. Owens glanced back at him. “If you’re ever in the mood for light reading.”

He wasn’t, and he doubted he would be.

* * *

The nurses were surprisingly nice despite being secret government agents. When Steve came to the next morning, he apologized, “I don’t remember if I vomited on someone’s shoes, but I remember seeing a pair before I blacked out.”

The two nurses in the room waved it aside. “We’ll take vomit over the phlegm that came out of the seam any day. Don’t worry about it.”

Seam. Steve guessed they meant the door that Eleven had to shut.

“Is there any chance I’ll be able to shower alone?”

“For the most part,” said the one checking his fluids. “We have male nurses if you’re more comfortable that way, but overall you’ll need someone to help you in and out, plus changing the bandages.”

He swallowed dryly, and then hummed a grateful sound around the straw in a water bottle procured for him. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference. You’ve all seen me naked and passed out already.”

They had the grace to smile politely but not laugh. “We do require a bag to go over your IV hand.”

Steve muttered a curt, “Sure,” and let them bind his arm up to his elbow before easing him off the bed and into a wheelchair. He’d never been lifted by two women before, and a goofy smile broke across his face. “Woah. Impressive.”

They shared his mirth and did it again when the second door in the room turned out to be the door to his personal bathroom. They lifted him out of the chair and onto the shower bench. It was a much longer process undoing his bandages. “It goes without saying, but do your best not to lean back.”

“I think I’ll be vomiting some more. No worries,” he assured, pulling off his gown without shame when they untied the bows in the back. It was a long process to carefully unwind most of the bandages, but Steve could feel, distantly, how certain patches and things remained in place. He didn’t bother asking what went on back there, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see it. He could already feel the ominous arrival of nausea without his nasal cannula, and he had to shower before they gave him another dose of painkillers.

“And please only use soap on your front. When you’re ready, just press the button on the wall and one of us will be here to wash your back and hair.” They left the door open a crack, and Steve heard them going about changing the bed sheets.

For a while, he just planted his forearm across his knees, lowered his forehead on it, and just let water wash over him. Cold. He felt like warm water would wake up his stitches in a bad way, and the cooler temperature soothed the mental aches trying to overwhelm him. When he was able, he managed to wash his face, armpits, and genitals, but left the rest to the nurses.

That was something, watching a variety of colors streak over the floor while they administered him. Brown flakes of old blood, crimson fresh, and orange iodine all passed around his feet while the nurses held him up, washed him off, and dried him. He felt a bit like he was at a dog groomer’s, but the refreshment of being clean was unparalleled. And if Steve were being honest with himself, being so cared for to the point of being manhandled was exactly what he wanted right now.

Hooked back up to oxygen and fluids, they tried to make him eat when he’d been lifted back into bed. They had the foresight to make it a smoothie instead of a meal. Steve got a couple gulps down before his stomach threatened rebellion, and his brain turned off on its own.

When he woke up, a fresh smoothie awaited him, and this one he got down. A different nurse took his empty glass. “You have a couple of eager visitors. Would you like me to send them in, or…?”

Steve felt divided between wanting to see someone familiar, and wanting to keep his obliterated pride in the nurses’ hands. “Um…can I have a mirror first? Seems unfair to inflict this face on other people without knowing myself.”

It didn’t take long to procure.

The groan that escaped him dragged on while he delicately touched the exquisite bags under his eyes. “Wow.”

Truly spectacular. Really brought out his pallor and chapped lips. The only warm colors in his face were his brown irises and the persistent red around the edges of bruises changing color. Something about the plastic tubes anchored in his nose brought it together in a sad way. “Jesus…I look like I died.”

“You’re a very far way from death, Mr. Harrington,” the nurse assured, but it sounded automatic as she recorded readings from his machines.

“When will I be able to leave?”

“As soon as the shock wears down. The soonest may be tomorrow; the latest may be next week. We’ll be sending you with an oxygen tank just in case.”

Oh. “Great.”

Before he fell into a chasm of thought, he winced at himself lifting a hand to do _something_ with his hair. The nurse reprimanded in her bored way, “You shouldn’t lift your arms above eye level.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he disregarded, silently hoping his rudeness brought the other two, nicer, nurses back. But as things were, Steve didn’t have much to go on, let alone fix. “You can let them in.”

When she left and no one immediately entered, Steve had to guess the hospital still required guests to wait in the lobby. He did not know where his room was in relation to said waiting room, but in the time that he waited, a sickly dead weight slid into his stomach. The nurse had said a _couple_ of visitors. His parents? Would parents be classified as temporary visitors instead of permanent…well, _parents?_

Did he even want to see them? No one had yet informed him of whatever lies he was supposed to tell his parents—

The light knock on the door may as well have been on his sternum, and he recognized the knuckles with terrified relief.

“Hey,” Nancy smiled. Jonathan followed her in with one of his tight-lipped, but no less genuine, smiles.

Steve let his ragged sigh into the room. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you two.” He slouched out of habit, only to feel a thousand needles in his back urging him to sit up straight.

The smile vanished from Jonathan but Nancy did better at seeming unbothered. She lifted a hip to sit beside him, her hand resuming its place rubbing his lower back. Steve swallowed loudly compared to his quiet, “That feels good.”

“Good,” she urged, desperate to make him comfortable.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.”

She frowned, and he realized he had no working concept of what ‘earlier’ meant. His timeline had been tied into a knot and thrown aside.

“Oh!” she shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “That’s fine—I mean, you didn’t scare me. The doctor said you might be anywhere between delirious, and ready to run a marathon the first time you woke up. Um…you might’ve spooked Dustin, though.”

Steve could only nod while he made a point to inhale the blessed oxygen being fed right to his nose. “I’ll talk to him. Later.”

“He’s here,” she chimed with a look to Jonathan. The man in question stood by the windows with his arms crossed, looking worried about pushing too much on Steve at one time. “All the kids are. My god, even B—”

“Even brought flowers and candy,” Jonathan clipped. A bigger smile flashed on his face. “Can’t say if you’ll ever see the candy, though.”

The weakest laugh Steve had ever huffed emerged, but it did, and it was real. In the silence that descended over them, Steve wondered if he looked as lost as he felt. He couldn’t help but feel like Jonathan had the special talent of seeing right through him. The way he ducked his head but kept his eyes on Steve…and offered, “We brought music for you to listen to and stuff to read. We can keep the kids busy until you’re ready to see them.”

Nancy picked up, “And if you’re not _ever_ ready, that’s okay too.”

Steve didn’t really see where he was looking. Eventually he replied, “I think I just wanna stay like this for a while. With you two.”

“Okay,” Nancy nodded.

Jonathan chimed a soft, “Yeah,” and lowered into the nearest chair.

A tray of surprisingly good mashed potatoes, salisbury steak, and yogurt arrived. “They’re really pushing a fast recovery,” Steve mused, having just gotten a smoothie down. But eating was much easier with friends around.

“It’s better than a feeding tube through your nose,” Nancy supplied.

Steve stopped chewing. “Did I have one of those?”

She gave him an apologetic smile and nodded. Steve touched the plastic around his septum—a quickly developing habit. “I don’t miss that.”

“You’re looking better with real food, though,” Jonathan said. “My mom will probably try to find a way to smuggle you sandwiches soon.”

Steve hummed an appreciative sound, wanting very much to enjoy food again, but for now, he settled on a third of the salisbury paddy and worked slowly on the yogurt. When he paused to raise his head, he felt their undivided attention on him. “Wait, how’s Will?”

He and Nancy shared something between a sigh and a laugh. “He’s great. Really great. A bit underfed since the Mind Flayer didn’t want hot food, but he’s doing great. I’ll tell him you asked.”

Steve nodded, missing the way his hair bobbed over his head when he moved. He considered finishing his yogurt, but his stomach had already reached full capacity…and he didn’t realize he’d zoned out until both Jonathan and Nancy had arms around him. “Huh?”

Jonathan blinked at him. “Uh—I think you just passed out sitting up. You looked like you might keel over.”

“Excuse me.”

Perhaps Nancy had summoned the nurse, or they just knew because of all the machines, but Steve felt the plastic leave his septum to be replaced momentarily with a mask over his mouth and nose. A burst of oxygen scalded through his chest. He got three of those this time, and then the smaller dosage was back in his nose, and he met his friends’ nervous looks.

“I think I overheard someone say that mountain climbers use those.” Steve gestured carelessly at the nurse leaving with the tank. “Even though I went _down_ , but I guess Upside-Down air is up… I should probably sleep.”

“Yeah, take it slow,” Nancy agreed as more nurses took hers and Jonathan’s place around him.

“Tell ‘em…sorry for the wait.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Nancy hushed while Jonathan agreed, “We’ll bring the kids back tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve could only nod and listened to the door of his room shut. His eyes were bailing out of reality faster than his consciousness. “Why can’t I see?” he slurred.

One of the nice nurses replied, “Do you want the short version or the long one?”

“If long equals science, I’m too dumb for it.”

“It’s a special kind of migraine. A headache that affects your eyesight.”

“Huh…Hurray for painkillers.”

“Yep. I’m going to ease you over the headrest now.”

With his face concealed and the window blinds casting the floor underneath him into dull, winter light, Steve felt his floodgates finally open. He kept his breathing quiet, which only made it worse. He just felt so…so broken. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe normal air, could barely sit upright without passing out. He tried to reassure himself that this was temporary, that _now_ wasn’t tomorrow…but it felt like a lie. Today seemed worse than yesterday, and if this was a case where things had to get worse before they’re better, Steve just wanted to sleep through tomorrow too.

While tears fell to the floor and he faded in and out of consciousness, Steve thought he might’ve felt something slide around his hand. Something soft and cool, slowly getting warmer the longer it held his hand.

And then fingers pushed through his thick hair, nails grazing over his scalp as the rustling scratch soothed him to a deep sleep.

* * *

Billy’s tongue moved over his front teeth as he watched Nancy pace the waiting room. Jonathan was more the stationary type, but he did kind of revolve in place while the kids peppered them with accusatory questions.

“We should stay until dinner. They’ll wake him up for that, and we can all eat together!” the smaller—and louder—Wheeler plotted.

“Mike,” his sister tried to curb, “Steve’s not exactly in a potluck kind of mood right now.”

Lucas Sinclair voiced, “Is he, like…getting sponge baths and eating gruel? Is he that bad?”

Nancy frowned and exchanged a mutually puzzled look with her boyfriend. “No, he’s eating solids now but not much. I think he’s got an adjoined shower, so…”

“Oh, Will, he asked about you,” Jonathan said. “He wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Small Byers perked up, but then frowned. “Me? I’m fine.”

Jonathan laughed, “Yes, you, and I told him. I’m sure he’ll like the mix tapes you made when he’s able to listen to them.”

Dustin’s chin lifted from where he had long since slumped in his chair in silence. “When he’s able?”

“He needs a lot of rest,” Jonathan said like an apology. The Henderson kid looked to be absorbing that with unhappy results before planting his cheek on his fist.

“Mom!” Will hopped up, a little precariously balanced, but he steadied as the Byers children met Joyce coming through the sliding doors.

“Hi, honey,” she scooped her arm around him for a hug. Her other arm went around Jonathan, who took the bag that fell off her shoulder. She gave Nancy a full hug with similar greetings before announcing, “I brought some board games, since you guys seem stubborn enough to skip school for the hospital views. Anything riveting happening in the parking lot?”

Max chuckled, “Just pigeons screwing and squirrels fighting over winter rations.”

Joyce hummed a motherly sound while she listened, but her eyes scanned the room. Billy didn’t know a lot about Joyce Byers, but she seemed fine enough…though her eyes were a little too wide all the time.

Whatever information she gathered, she looked around them with a smile. “I assume Steve’s with his parents?”

Billy watched Nancy and Jonathan do that thing again. Exchange looks. It border-lined creepy how they were practically mind melding. Nancy answered, “Uh, no. Steve requested to be alone for a while.”

Joyce’s smile began to fade. “But his parents have been by? Right?”

“Um.” Nancy rubbed her arms. “Maybe? They might’ve been here earlier.”

“We haven’t seen them,” Jonathan answered quietly. The unspoken thing resonated throughout the room this time: each of them had been here all day. No Harringtons in sight.

Maybe it was her height. Maybe it was her nice voice, but Billy didn’t think Joyce Byers had it in her to look fucking livid. “He’s been in there _alone_?”

“Not the whole time,” Jonathan and Nancy tried to reassure. “We saw him, but he’s sleeping now…”

They watched her stride down the corridor to change that. Billy felt the glances around him— _at him_. Could feel the overall, _Even Billy showed up, but not his parents?_

No one seemed willing to ask about it. The Byers’ dad situation is pretty common knowledge, even to Billy and Max, but maybe they weren’t the only ones with particularly shitty parental qualities in their lives. So no one asked, that is, until Billy and Max encased themselves within the Camaro to go home.

“What’s the deal with Harrington’s parents?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Will told us that Jonathan knew he lived in a big house, and was able to throw parties. But…”

Billy navigated out of the maze of hospital streets to turn onto the main road. His car still smelled like wet earth, stale leaves, and enough sour rot to make him commit to throwing the mats in the washing machine later. Whenever Max moved, a fragrance drifted off her chair toward Billy. Soft, clean, and a little something else. Something warm and gently spicy, like when Billy himself was fresh out of the shower and hadn’t sprayed anything yet. Steve’s smell made the rot more bearable.

“But what?”

“I always got the impression they weren’t really parties. Unless you call ‘having a few friends over’ a party.”

Billy relaxed one arm in between them so the other hand slid across the top of the steering wheel. “Yeah well…probably because they have white furniture. Or leather. Leather furniture and white carpets would never survive a party. There’s probably some fine china or crystalware collection that’s worth as much as Steve’s inheritance.”

“What are those actually like?”

Billy poised wide eyes on her. “You’re asking me about high school parties?”

“Our schools are right next to each other. Stuff trickles over,” she responded haughtily, ready for a fight.

But Billy wasn’t up for it. Something just…didn’t really make sense anymore, fighting with her. There was something to the whole… _knowing_ thing. Knowing those tunnels were underneath them right now. Knowing that his freaking stepsister had been running around in them Saturday night.

Billy was still processing what the hell he had walked into—what Steve had tried to keep him out of. The memory of Steve’s gaze darting off him and searching the Byers’ yard flashed behind Billy’s eyes. He blinked it away.

“It’s not your friends’ scene, I’ll tell you that. It’s loud, with shitty music. One or two good songs will play out of the whole night. And sweat. It’s sweat, mostly. Just a haze of bodies, sour beer, and even more sour pot smoke. If you don’t like beer, there’s the punchbowl, but beer’s the safer option.”

“Why’s it safer?”

“Two reasons,” Billy gestured with his fingers. “One, the punchbowl is open terrain. Anybody can throw their own alcohol in it, which means it’s a bomb covered in sugar ready to go off when you least expect it. You’ll hear it called jungle juice for a reason. If you don’t want a hangover, don’t drink the punch. Ever.

“Two, is the same as the first. Anybody can pollute the bowl. Beer comes in a keg, a bottle, a can—but you control it. You’re probably not going to like it, but I suggest you get used to it if you’re going to be smart.”

“Can I try it next time you open one?”

Thankfully, he’d pulled up to one of the few red lights in Hawkins. He pivoted in his seat to face her better. “You serious?”

“You drink in broad daylight. What’s the issue?”

“You’re trying to get my ass beat, that’s the issue.”

“Mom’s let me try her wine before,” Max reasoned. “But she likes the bitter, red stuff.”

“Sounds like Susan had nice standards before—before.”

The light changed to green, and silence filled the car. Then Max latched onto what he’d said. “Wait, you like wine?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Not all of it is bitter. I dated somebody in California whose parents always had sangria around.”

“Sangria? What is that?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“What? Why not?” she bickered, but Hawkins was a short trip from one side to the other. Billy easily dodged her pestering until he pulled up to the front of their house.

4pm, on the dot. They made better time than when they _did_ go to school, but their parents weren’t home to appreciate it. Good thing, because a beer is exactly what Billy wanted right now, and as he withdrew it from the fridge, he simultaneously opened a cabinet.

Max had dropped herself into the chair at her desk to sift through comic books, but her ear pricked at the telltale, crisp sound of a can opening. Billy’s soft footfalls arrived at her doorway, but she watched with suspicion and interest as he poured a measured amount into a glass. His face was illegible, but if she had to guess, he was curious, amused, and definitely doubted she would like it.

He handed it over and waited. Max felt carbonation bubbles jump against her skin when she sniffed it. “Does it taste the same way it smells?”

“Find out.” He retreated to lean against her doorjamb, sipping from the can directly.

She did, and instantly grimaced. But she held the beer in her mouth, trying to find a nuance of flavor that might be worth all the hype. She didn’t find it. Billy laughed quietly as she looked at him. “I don’t get it. What’s so good about this?”

He surprised her by stepping forward, and revealed a fat orange wedge in his other hand. He squeezed his fist over her cup, bobbing his hand to get the last drops from it. “Try it now.”

Max scrutinized the juice sinking through the beer and swirled the glass. Her second taste came more hesitantly, but she couldn’t conceal the surprise on her face. “Huh.”

“Better?”

She gave it another sniff. “It’s not _good_ , but…it’s better.”

Billy kind of nodded once, satisfied as he picked himself off the doorjamb—

And threw the orange wedge into her cup, splashing beer over her and her comics. “UGH! You asshole!”

“Three points,” he purred on his way to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to end things on a lighter note~ Hope you're all having a good week!
> 
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	3. Same Old Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter in the hospital! haha I'm so sorry for the hellacious wait.

Steve spent a long while just breathing. When it became clear he wasn’t going back to sleep, he opened his eyes to see the ochre stripes on the floor—electric lighting cut to pieces by the window blinds.

Lifting his head came surprisingly easy, but he still planted his cheek on the headrest so he could take in the view of Hawkins’ treetops—

The rustle of clothing turned his head to his other side. He stared at the dark hair resting on the edge of his bed, felt the soft hand around his own. He frowned, trying hard to think through the fog why this person was familiar but also not…

“Mom?” he ventured.

The quick inhalation, the shifting position, all the little body mannerisms that told him this wasn’t his mother. Joyce removed her hand from his to rub her face and plant her elbows on the bed, holding her head while she slowly came to.

“Hi, Mrs. Byers.”

Her eyes popped open, groggy but awake. “Hi, honey. Have you been awake long?”

“I’m not really sure,” he said, but his words tapered into air as she pushed her fingertips past his temple, sending tingles across his scalp. He let his neck relax for his cheek to settle on the headrest. “Few minutes.”

“How’re you feelin’? You hungry?”

With sudden, crystal clear clarity, he knew he was ravenous. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”

“Good,” she smiled, her voice husky from sleep, “because I brought sandwiches, a soup thermos, and some gummy worms.”

He laughed breathily. “You’re awesome.”

The ham sandwich was the best he’d ever tasted, only bested by the chicken broth used to wash it down. He could have sworn the sweet ham and tart cranberry sauce made him see colors different. “This is like Christmas dinner in a sandwich.”

“I’m glad you like it!” she chimed, eating her own, simple bologna.

The second sandwich is turkey, but Mrs. Byers put thin apple slices on it. The food was good—even better—at room temperature. Steve liked the crunch of oats and things in the bread and how the turkey had a little touch of salt to it. “This might be the best food I’ve ever had.”

“It’s good your taste buds are coming back. That’s the meanest thing about being sick, not being able to taste anything properly.”

“I’m sorry if I throw it up later. Been having trouble keeping things down.”

“Oh, don’t apologize for that. When Hop’ was sick like this, he felt real bad and then recovered all at once. Well…I think Hopper would tell himself that, at least. That man might be the most stubborn I’ve ever met.”

“At least he’s driving this shit show of a place.”

If Joyce did not like his language, she didn’t voice it. “Yeah, we got lucky, huh?”

Steve didn’t really feel like an authority on luck at the minute, plus his eyes alighted on his oxygen tank on top of one of his monitors. “Could you hand me that?”

Joyce muttered a, “Sure,” but looked a little worried as she handed it to him, like a nurse ought to have been around for this. She watched as Steve didn’t bother removing his cannula to administer a hit. “Have they mentioned when you’ll be good to leave?”

He exhaled slowly before replying, “I guess when I don’t need this any more.” He wagged the tank on his lap, which was roughly as tall as the distance between his elbow and fingertips. “I’m kinda hoping they’ll let me take this one with me. I don’t want to be strapped to a tank.”

“Oh, I think they’ll let you have both,” she confirmed shrewdly. She smiled warmly at him, earning a small but genuine smile in return.

“Thanks for being here.”

“Of course! God, I feel like when I almost lost Will, I got him back with six others. And now there’s that sweet little girl and her brother too—”

“Max?” Steve almost whispered. “Are you talking about Max?”

“Uh huh. I haven’t caught her brother’s name yet. He’s real quiet.”

“Billy.” He sighed, “It’s Billy.”

Joyce observed the effect of that name, how Steve was both instantly exhausted despite the cold shadow in his eyes. She ventured slowly, “I take it there’s some animosity there?”

He pushed a breath out through his nose. “Yeah,” he clipped, and almost left it at that. But some caged, desperate part of him felt like throwing it at someone, anyone, even if they were as kind as Joyce Byers. “He broke my wings.”

Joyce needed to inhale after that. “I see…hm.”

The sound turned his head. “What?”

She turned her head contemplatively, lifted a shoulder for a shrug. “It’s just, whatever it’s worth, he’s been waiting with all the others. Every day since Sunday.”

“What day is it now?”

“Oooph…” she sighed to herself as she pulled on her sleeve to view her watch. Just turned Wednesday.”

Steve didn’t know what that was worth, so he chose not to scrutinize it at all. “One of the nurses said, at worst, I can’t leave ‘til next week.”

Joyce inhaled sharply, that motherly way of announcing a change in subject. “This may be a bit personal, but I went ahead and got you some clothes. I had to guess your size, but you’re not much bigger than Jonathan. I thought some pj’s or sweatpants might be a nice change from a dress that feels like it’s made from a paper-plastic blend.”

He allowed himself another smile. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

As of yet, he’d been rocking some hospital standard boxer briefs under the gown. Joyce rolled his IV drip stand over to the bathroom for him to have a little privacy, where he discovered she had pre-washed the clothes too. The sweats smelled like Jonathan, and Nancy sometimes.

He opened the door to ask, “Can I, um…have some help with the, uh…”

She saw the shirt in his hand and flustered, “Yes! Of course, honey. I should’ve known—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured. The forest green sweater had a collar that unlaced, so Joyce moved it like a pool inner tube to Steve’s waist, and eased it up around his wings. He laced the front himself, smoothing a hand over his diaphragm when he finished. “This is nice.”

“You like it?” she grinned.

“Yeah,” he smiled more easily. “I do.”

“Do you wanna stand by the window? Or stroll the hallway? They put you in the nice part of the hospital.”

“Standing’s okay. Movement tends to set me off.”

“Everyone’s gone home—much as they tried to fight that,” she reassured, rubbing his arm and seeing right through him.

Steve gave it some thought, his hand on his drip stand. “Okay…I might squash you if I fall over.”

“At least it will be a soft landing,” she teased, and went to open the door. The fluorescent bulbs were an assault on the eyes, but Steve couldn’t deny the views were better than his room. Joyce walked with him at his slow pace to where the corridor opened to a massive and colorful lobby. Remnants of the past decade still reigned, with the curvaceous blobs in the carpet pattern and the oddly shaped furniture, but it was colorful and open.

“Part of me is glad the hospital keeps the kids downstairs,” she shared. “One look at this, and they’d never leave you alone.”

Steve turned to roll his drip stand over to the wall of windows. In the distance, the cranes and construction could be seen of the new mall coming—

“Good evening, Mr. Harrington.”

He turned but Joyce replied, “Dr. Owens.”

The doc looked to be at the end of his caffeine fuel. “I’m not going to bother you for long. Just wanted to say it’s good to see you walking around. That’s excellent progress. I’ll be gone until afternoon tomorrow—or today. One easily loses track of time in these places. Anyway, you know how to contact the nurses should you need anything.”

Joyce had crossed her arms and appeared ready to let the man leave as quickly as he had come, but Steve brought him up short. “What am I supposed to tell my parents?”

Joyce brought one of her hands up to rest on her jaw while she looked worriedly at him and mutually curious at Owens. The hands in his pockets made his lab coat flap—he actually wore scrubs underneath it. Something about that came as a surprise. Perhaps how mundane and doctorly it is.

“We’ve contacted your parents and…seeing as they are not privy to things here—”

“Just tell me what lies I gotta play up.”

“Car accident,” he relinquished. “We’ve totaled your car to make it believable and rigged your insurance to pay for a new one when you’re all healed up.”

Steve took a moment to absorb that and nodded once. “And my oxygen? A nurse said I’d be leaving with a tank.”

“We found you unconscious, breathing in gasoline and carbon monoxide fumes. Should be enough to dissuade questions or disbelief. And if all else fails, you were passed out. You don’t know what happened. Our authorities will handle the rest.”

Steve’s jaw moved from side to side as he processed that. “Sounds easy enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Joyce cut in, “but where _are_ his parents?”

Owens looked to Steve, silently asking if he wanted to answer that. Unable to really shrug, Steve put it in his tone. “It changes every other week. I don’t really keep track anymore. I think my dad was headed to London this month and my mom’s in Paris for most of it.”

Joyce was dumbfounded. “They just leave you alone all the time? You’re still in high school.”

“I’m eighteen,” he disregarded. “My birthday comes before anyone else’s, and I guess now I’ve graduated. Yay.”

Joyce looked far from pleased, but she gave Dr. Owens a _Thank you, you can leave now_ smile, and waited for him to disappear in the elevator. “Have you thought about what help you want when you’re back home?”

Steve took the time to inhale and sigh before he admitted, “No.”

She nodded her understanding and postponed, “Later. Looks like a storm’s moving in, huh?”

He looked and, as if one of the windows wasn’t sealed quite right, Steve could smell it too. That damp, fresh musk of the sky opening and the earth waking up for it. He wanted to be outside, even if it put him right back in here with the flu.

The drops did not fall until the sky began to change color, and by then Steve was plugged back into his oxygen and slept through the start of the storm. Slept through most of the morning, and Joyce only left to go home and shower before bringing back pancakes.

 _Pancakes_. From the best diner in town.

Steve sniffed the air before he locked onto the thing in her hands. He stared at the box like she’d just brought in a pot of gold sparkling with a rainbow and everything. She laughed at him, all wild bedhead and sleep-drunk eyes. “I guess no matter how decent the food is here, you can’t beat thousand-calorie pancakes. I’m surprised a train of people didn’t follow me in here.”

“I really hope I keep these down,” Steve breathed wistfully, taking the box from her slowly, like it might disintegrate if he moved too fast. The pancakes were hardly anything luxurious: just classic fluffy disks he ate like folded pizzas, dipping them into the syrup. Joyce had gone so far as to order a side helping of silver dollar, sourdough pancakes too, like delightful little palette cleansers.

The nurses helped him shower, changed his bindings, and he slept through the rest of Wednesday.

Thursday came with…less pleasant news. Steve felt like he was doing a routine physical before every school year, standing as he was on the scale while a nurse flicked the plastic cube over the bar of numbers. When she frowned over his papers, he did not have to pry in order to be told, “You’re losing weight, Mr. Harrington. Understandable, given the decline in calorie intake and occasional rejection, but it’s unsafe to lose more than two pounds a week. You’re nine under.”

Considering he was made of metal and carrying probably a pound of bandages right now, that must’ve been significant. “Is some of it water weight?” he guessed with a lift of his IV arm. “Haven’t had a real glass since after my surgery.”

“Possibly,” she answered ambiguously. With more certainty, she assured, “Your sleeping patterns are good, and it’s the best medicine. You haven’t been rejecting food as often. The weight will come back. If it keeps going at this rate, though, you will need to be here while we monitor its return.”

Steve pushed out a measured breath before Dr. Owens said in passing, “The only concern is, lean as you are, you didn’t have much to lose to begin with. Occasional loss or gain is normal for anyone, though. Don’t stress yourself over it.”

Steve reckoned he only said that because stress would keep him from eating and make him throw up more. It’s not like he was in control of what his body decided to do.

When Nancy and Jonathan popped in for lunch, though, he kept it down and enjoyed listening to them talk. They informed him that they were skipping lunch and a class to eat with him, but otherwise everyone kind of _had_ to attend school.

“They’ll be here afterward, though,” Jonathan smiled. “You look better, in case you were wondering.”

Steve leaned his head to the side instead of shrugging. “The nurses are watching my weight. Apparently I’m losing too much too fast.”

“It’s muscle,” Nancy said, and then paused, full-bite around her sandwich in the face of Jonathan and Steve waiting for her to elaborate. “Did either of you take anatomy? I thought they said that muscles begin to atrophy after two days? Muscle weighs more than fat and water.”

Steve went back to sipping his smoothie. “You’d think the nurse would’ve told me that.”

Nancy rolled her eyes but smiled. “They’re trained to dodge every question they hear.”

Jonathan picked up, “Still pretty messed up. You have the right to know what’s happening.”

Steve waved the smoothie as if to knock the subject aside. “As soon as I’m out of here I’ll be right back for physical therapy anyways.”

Jonathan leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, unconsciously playing with a balled up sandwich wrapper. “I wonder what that’s gonna be like? Is it a specialized gym class?”

“They haven’t told me yet,” Steve said. “I think I’ve got a couple months before that. At least to let my feathers grow back so I’m not a rotisserie chicken.”

Nancy made a rough sound—a guffaw trapped in her throat, garbled into a cough. She peeked, wide-eyed between the two of them to gauge how insensitive it would be to laugh, but Steve just grinned at her.

On their way out, he thanked them both for coming by for lunch. Jonathan made a sound like he remembered something, and came back to Steve’s bedside. “Is it okay if I come back with Dustin? He’s been really eager to see you.”

Steve immediately felt a pang in his chest at having neglected the kid for so long. “Yeah…yeah, I’ll be awake.”

He used the time to shower and let the nurses do their thing. He still hadn’t seen the state of his wings, and he didn’t look now, but he wanted to be presentable for Dustin. The poor kid deserved to see him sporting _some_ kind of recovery. Steve kept his nasal cannula in all afternoon in the hopes that he would be able to take it out for Dustin’s visit, but as if his body knew—or maybe it used more oxygen in his excitement—a wave of dizziness hit him around three.

It was a big one. A nurse stayed in the room with him, upping the oxygen passing through the cannula as well as giving him bursts from the rebreather every eight minutes. Then every twelve. The nurse set the tank on the windowsill to mark up his progress and sighed, “It would be better if you slept.”

“My friend’s coming. I’ll sleep after.”

She didn’t push it, but it was also in that moment Steve heard a knock on his open door. Jonathan greeted him with a closed smile. Dustin stood in front of him, gaping like the kid he is. Steve smiled at them both, doing his best to not think about how the tubes in his nose moved with it. Even though Dustin’s eyes stared too long at his back, and locked onto the center of his face instead of his eyes.

Then he just…broke. Steve watched Dustin’s face wilt like nothing he’d ever seen before—and the kid rushed around the bed to hug him. At least, he tried, but he was obviously scared to death of hurting Steve. Gripping the front of Steve’s sweatshirt, he pressed himself as much as he dared into Steve’s chest until the latter drew his wrists low to hug around Steve’s waist.

Dustin sobbed against his sternum while Steve held onto him. He tried to coo nice things—honest things. “Hey, hey buddy, it’s okay. I’m gonna be okay. It looks worse than it is. They already did their thing. I just need to grow my feathers back and get some exercise. It’s gonna be okay…”

“Steve!” he croaked, coming up enough to sob, “We stole and read your file! I _know_ your wings won’t—I know it’s my—”

“It’s _not your fault_.” Steve’s voice dropped low, dark velvet. He gripped Dustin’s red, damp face and wagged it back and forth, demanding the kid listen to him. “Alright? You can be a real pain in my ass but I volunteered for it. Okay? I need you to know that. Do you _know that?_ ”

It was the most adult Steve had ever sounded—ever pushed at him. Steve didn’t know if Dustin nodded because he had scared him again, or if it was the tears lacquering his own eyes, or if it was because Steve wasn’t an adult at all, because his voice gave out at the end.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling Dustin back against his chest. “We’re okay.”

He gripped the cap off Dustin’s head so he could push his face against the flattened curls. Dustin didn’t cry long, but they were heavy sobs that rocked against Steve. His shoulder began to ache something fierce, and he kept his hand steady on Dustin’s back despite the shooting needles of pain through his own. Dustin sounded like such a _kid_ , but Steve felt…numb. It was easier being the one injured instead of watching it from the sidelines.

When he came up sniffling and wiping his face, he asked, “How long can I stay?”

Steve cleared his throat, thankful he sounded much stronger than he felt. “Don’t you have homework?”

“I did it in the car.”

“Don’t they give you like, four hours to do? To keep you busy and off of drugs or something?”

“Please,” Dustin scoffed, much more like his usual self. “Four hours of paperwork? They’ve yet to give me a challenge.”

Steve laughed breathily, and Dustin visibly relaxed some. “Can I sit down?”

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled, putting the kid’s hat back on his head—

Dustin gingerly set himself beside Steve. He didn’t think the kid meant on the bed, but…that made his heart do something in his chest. Steve didn’t have the time to comprehend it, though, because Jonathan cleared his throat behind them. “Can someone else intrude?”

Steve huffed, “How many people did you fit in your car?”

Dustin answered, “Just me and Will,” the same moment Steve turned to see Will under his brother’s arm.

“Hey,” Steve cooed, the word escaping on his breath. But the way Will brightened, he didn’t mind. “Come here, come here. Last time I saw you, you were trying to take over the world. Come here.”

Will’s touch came far gentler than Dustin’s, but it made sense given the kid’s recent fight with a special kind of Satan. As Will slowly relaxed his weight against him, Steve realized he barely knew the kid. Steve moved his hand in long pets down his neck and vertebrae, stopping at his shoulder blades and swooping back up. When Will finally let his head rest completely on Steve’s shoulder, he murmured, “I’m sorry about your wings.”

“Honestly, my biggest issue is my lungs,” Steve disregarded, but Will began to ease off of him.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to—”

“What is _with_ the younger generation blaming themselves?” Steve whined in Jonathan’s direction. The guy stood against the window, holding his elbows as he smiled over his shrug. “You gotta stop that. Guys, once my feathers grow back, it’ll just be _me_. Same old Steve. You’ll go back to your nerdy games and won’t even notice a difference.”

“We’ll notice a difference,” Dustin rebuked. “Everybody will notice a difference, because eventually you will be the _same old_ Steve.”

He really didn’t want to linger on that right now. “I don’t see a problem,” he tried to say patiently. “You said it yourself in the tunnels: nobody flies anymore. Except for hobby sports and stuff. Or you need to get a license for it, and who really expects me to pass the written exam for that? My problem right now, is just getting _this thing_ out of my nose.”

All eyes fell to his finger pointing at his septum. “Also, not to be a total dick about it, but the weirdo club just got its coolest member. Between El and Will, I think I’ll fit right in.”

Will giggled, his one wing flapping ever so slightly. “We can go to p.t. together. Jonathan always drives me, but you’ll be able to drive again, right?”

“P.t.?” Steve blinked at him.

“Physical therapy,” Will chimed, not bothered in the slightest. The kid was a freaking beam of light, jeez. Steve somehow felt both crummier and revived sitting next to him.

“Right. Yeah, but it’ll be a little bit before I’m up and running for that.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed, “but it’ll be better with company. They don’t always let Jonathan in with me.”

“Why not?” Steve glanced at Dustin as if he might verify or provide more information, but Dustin gazed at Will, totally focused. Steve guessed that Will didn’t normally talk about this.

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged. “They let my mom in, though. I think they don’t want their super medical tech getting out. And the fewer people getting in their way, the better.”

“Well, since we’re here,” Steve smirked at Dustin and Jonathan. He gently slapped the back of his hand against Dustin’s leg. He eagerly moved aside to allow Will on the bed too. “Spill the secrets, mini Byers. How super is this tech?”

Will grinned at his brother, sharing a quiet exchange before he pitched into it. Most of it flew over Steve’s head: machines that vibrated science into the body to make it relax and stimulate healing or something. But the athletic component—that was right up Steve’s alley. “Wait, you’re telling me that you can do a push-up one handed?”

“Not yet! I could almost do it before last week, but the Mind Flayer took a lot out of me.” Steve couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Will talked about it. “It’s not like the stupid tests they make us do in gym. There’s no long jump or sit-ups. The trainers say that the big muscles don’t matter. It’s the smaller muscles _under_ the big ones that do all the work. Like how ballet dancers are really fit but still skinny.”

Dustin intercepted, “I can’t let my mom hear that. She’s trying to harness-train our cat so it’ll go on walks with her.”

Will faced him. “I didn’t know your mom cared about weight stuff.”

“It’s less about weight and more about fitting into her favorite dress. It’s like her mission every year to wear it again. She managed last year, and then that was it. Done for seven months until she wants to wear it again.”

Will and Steve absorbed that until Jonathan announced, “Okay, guys. You’ve talked his ear off for today. You can talk the other one off tomorrow, maybe.”

Steve was silently grateful to him even though he was equally disappointed to see the kids slide to their feet—

“Oh, Steve!” Will turned to him. “Have you listened to the tapes I made?”

Steve blinked at him. He completely forgot about the music Jonathan had brought him. “Not yet. Did you need them back?”

“No, I just wanted to know what you thought. They might be weird but they help me feel better and sleep and stuff. If you don’t like them, it’s okay—”

“No, no, I just haven’t gotten a chance. It…might sound kind of shitty, but I spend a lot of time sleeping.”

Will smiled. “It’s not shitty. I understand.”

His brother put an arm around him to gently usher them out the same time a nurse came in to check on him. Dustin took one look at the rebreather and exclaimed, “Is that one of those things they use at Machu Pichu?”

“What?” Steve grimaced slightly.

“It’s in Peru! The altitude is so high that altitude sickness is a thing! My mom’s always wanted to go—she has this massive book all about it! Tour guides carry those tanks in their backpacks like water bottles—”

“Keep talking, buddy,” Jonathan coaxed with a push on the boys’ backs. He sent an apologetic look to Steve, who could only reply, _Best of luck_.

As he accepted the tank from the nurse and held it to his face, Steve supposed it was far better for Dustin to be enamored with Steve’s medical stuff than guilt ridden about it—

“What the hell is he doing up here?” Dustin’s voice trickled down the hallway.

“Talk louder. I don’t think he heard you,” Will sassed.

Jonathan’s soft, worried voice finished, “In the elevator, guys,” the same moment Steve pivoted to see Billy in the doorway.

Jesus, he actually forgot how big those wings are. Billy took up the doorframe, but his wings had to remain in the hall before he folded them close enough to allow him entrance. Even without looking at the wings, Billy took up a lot of room wherever he went. It’s just who the guy is. And in the silence that stood between them after the nurse read the energy and side-stepped right out of there, Billy was just a whole lot of something that Steve wasn’t ready to deal with.

Then again, he’d never been ready to deal with Billy Hargrove.

They both opened their mouths to speak, but Billy stopped quickly and merely held Steve’s waiting gaze… But Steve’s eyes felt heavy and weak against the blazing sun that was Billy. He let them fall.

“Billy, I don’t have it in me to hate you. I don’t have it in me to like you either. So just…leave. Please.”

He didn’t lift his eyes to see Billy shut his mouth or look down at the cup in his hands. He heard Billy’s quiet tread falls and the clatter of something on the bedside table that had been rolled next to him. When Billy’s sounds retreated from the room, and moved along the corridor outside, Steve peeked at the paper cup full of hospital coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponder, why are you torturing this poor boy?  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm using the tactic, "send the parents to Europe," so I have 2 less people to characterize.
> 
> I would say that thoughts and comments are welcome....but you're all probably just ready to yell at me and we're only 3 chapters in LOL I promise things get lighter from here on out. We leave the hospital first thing in ch. 4! (Thoughts and comments are always welcome <3)
> 
> [Twitter~](https://twitter.com/Pondermoniums)   
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	4. Tuning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer but I enjoyed writing it too much and wanted to share it haha I might let chapters be shorter since it means I'll be able to upload more frequently...maybe.

Steve knew what Dr. Owens planned to say just from the sigh that preceded it. “Good news. You’re fit to be discharged.”

“ ‘Bout time,” Steve exhaled to himself. His legs shifted in little movements, rubbing his crossed ankles and the soft pajama fabric between them. Dustin had long since had the epiphany to use Steve’s car keys to get into his house and bring him his own clothes. But not without his scathing comments.

“Dude, your bedroom’s as sterile as this hospital. How did Nancy ever sleep with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” was all Steve could gasp as he yanked a sweater out of the kid’s hands.

The news had come in the evening, however, so Steve remained another night since he didn’t have a car, which he wouldn’t be able to drive anyways. As the sun rose high enough to change the color of the world without breaching the treetops yet, Joyce’s earlier question regarding who would help him reverberated dully in his brain.

He had never called anyone. He kind of just expected the nurses to haul him into a government van and he’d see where they took him… But the morning wore on and the crows barked outside his window like any other day.

Steve heard footsteps draw close and looked up to see Eleven entering his room in front of Hopper. Steve wasn’t sure what he expected. Perhaps never to have seen her? She was free to be a kid and do kid stuff. It made more sense for Sheriff Hopper to be here, although Steve wondered briefly why he hadn’t seen the guy sooner. Wouldn’t hurt to hear a, _Thanks for keeping the daredevils alive after they kidnapped you to the tunnels. Sure helped._

Steve discarded the thought as Eleven pressed her lips into a small smile. Hopper greeted, “Hey, kid. You got quite the entourage waiting downstairs. You wanna leave without the fanfare?”

Steve met their gazes, both patient and understanding. Both nonjudgmental, and with the truest empathy he’d yet seen. He swallowed. “Yeah.”

Hopper nodded once. “Take your time.”

Steve meant to plant his hands on the bed to stand, but his shoulder blade gave a sharp protest. El’s hands entered his vision, and he accepted her help. A tired, surprised sound escaped him when he swayed on his feet, nausea tickling his vision. What exactly qualified him to be discharged, he had no idea, but he didn’t want to spend another day here…

When he blinked into focus, the sheriff’s hands held his ribcage, steadying him. “There’s no shame in using a wheelchair.”

Steve let his eyes sag shut during long blinks. The dawn sunlight had been mostly eclipsed by storm clouds, but the sky still shined too bright. “I don’t want to be seen.”

“You won’t be, but I get it. El, do you mind holding onto him?”

In answer, she slid alongside Steve. Her arm went around his waist, so he took that to mean he could hold onto her shoulders. He’d never touched somebody without wings before. She seemed…frail without them. That is, until his first step pitched most of his weight against her, and she held firm.

Hopper stood in the corridor, checking and blocking prying eyes with his body as he gestured in the opposite direction. “Staff elevator is this way. Leads straight to the parking garage for emergency vehicles.”

“Huh,” Steve couldn’t help but chirp when he saw the elevator large enough to fit four gurneys. “Fancy.”

By the time the doors opened to the dark garage, though, he was glad for the line of waiting wheelchairs. Hopper unfolded one with one shake, and eased him into it. “El will take you to my car. I’m just going to grab your meds. _Wait_ if you need assistance, all right?”

Steve swallowed a wet, loud gulp. “Yeah, sure.”

He heard the elevator doors squeak shut, but he didn’t see Eleven glancing behind her as she rolled him to the beige truck. Steve _does_ see the trunk door swing open and the back seat fall completely flat against the bed. Steve let out an involuntary, high-pitched sound when the wheelchair lifted and dumped him face first into the truck bed. With a groan, he crawled onto the more forgiving cushions of the back seat.

“Okay?” El asked.

“Great,” he coughed.

* * *

It was taking too long. Hospitals always took their sweet ass time, but if Steve was discharged, he ought to be sprinting out of here.

Billy stepped out of the waiting room and the hub of cacophony in it. Kids could really talk a mile a minute—

“Where are you going?” Max interrupted.

He glanced back at the horde of her friends and their siblings _and_ their parents. News of Steve’s supposed car crash really spread like wildfire. It was not the first time he wondered how the hell this whole town didn’t know about the Upside-Down.

“Somewhere else,” remarked vaguely, and went toward the stairs.

The fire doors took…a second longer to clang shut behind him, and the slap of Converse matched his own on the stairs. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking on Steve. Obviously,” Max scoffed. Resigned, he let her march up the stairs with him. Security had slackened with Steve’s recovery, but the hospital staff really only seemed bent on policing the elevators—

“And it’s not lost on me that part of this is my fault. He dealt with you for me.”

Last week, he’d have grabbed her shoulders and held her over the stairs, threatening to push her down them. He might’ve actually done it. _Kids are made of rubber, she’ll be fine,_ he’d have told himself. Any breakage was her fault. _You skateboard that much and still don’t know how to land right?_

Now, though…he peered behind them and above, noting the empty stairwell and how she still said that to him. “You’re a brave piece of shit.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed while swinging open the door to Steve’s floor. “It’s the only thing we have going for us.”

We.

There was something to that which Billy didn’t want to analyze. So he followed her through the doors—

Billy stuck his wing out, causing her to walk into the wall of feathers and sputter, “Wha—hey—”

“Shhh,” he hissed, and grasped her arm so she remained behind him as he walked them over to the lounge area. Billy may be large, but Max glowed like a hot poker with her wings only being half a shade darker than her hair. They both peered around the corner at Sheriff Hopper talking to that Owens doctor.

“He’s shady,” Max thought aloud. Billy made no sounds of disagreement, but their attention soon fell on the bag Owens handed to Hopper.

“The oxygen stand is self-explanatory,” they overheard. “It folds out practically on its own.”

“The kind that rolls, right? Kid’s been through enough, he doesn’t deserve any cheap equipment.”

“ _Yes_ , the kind that rolls,” Owens said, somehow equal parts patient and impatient. “He shouldn’t be needing that one too often. Just a few puffs from the bottles throughout the day.”

Billy observed Hopper setting the bag on the nurses’ counter to open and inspect. As a cop, it made sense: see that a transaction is thoroughly done. But Billy frowned at the same sort of compressed canister attached to a rebreather that he’d seen when he visited Steve’s room. “What is that?”

“Dustin said Steve’s got…something wrong with his lungs. The air in the tunnels affected him pretty bad.”

Yeah…Billy had one hell of a migraine later that night, but after a rough sleep, he’d been fine. He thought it was a mixture of getting punched in the nose and a needle in the neck, but now Billy was glad to have taken so long getting to the pumpkin patch.

“Alright,” Hopper said, zipping up the bag. “See you around.”

“Unfortunately,” Owens replied in kind.

The men parted ways and Billy’s head lifted as if to see Hopper better, because the man was going in a different direction than the stairs or elevators…

Billy strode to Steve’s room—to Steve’s open door. The bed had already been turned down with fresh bedding. No Steve to be seen. Max had gone ahead, as if knowing his thoughts, and returned to say, “There’s another elevator on this side.”

Billy pursed his lips and resigned himself to say, “I don’t think your pals are getting your send off.”

* * *

Steve had never been so glad to be home. The familiar smells infused his lungs almost as well as his oxygen—

“Gah! Jeez…”

“You’re fine,” Hopper disregarded, having lifted his wheelchair to roll Steve over the front stoop. Considering the back of the chair stopped midway up his spine to accommodate for his wings, the likelihood of Steve tumbling backwards out of it was rather high. “Jumpy lil’ bird.”

“My shoulder blade’s broken! Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, been there. It’ll be the first to heal.”

Eleven gazed around the foyer and the stairs leading to the second floor while Hopper rolled Steve through to the living room-kitchen area. “What’ve you been craving while in the hospital? We’re sticking around for dinner.”

Steve took a moment to answer, still absorbing the quiet of his house. “Uh…you mean take out, or from a recipe?”

Hopper held his hands out. “My cooking skills are limited. But I understand if restaurant food is a little much for you right now.”

Steve had to think about it. He rubbed his eyebrow, which graduated to scrubbing his entire face. “Um…in the garage freezer. My mom makes big batches of stuff. Anything from there is fine.”

It took a couple tries, but Hopper found the door to the garage and extracted a restaurant-grade, metal dish covered in foil. He figured the lasagna within would be a good option; layers of pasta, meat, and veggies to pick through depending on what Steve’s stomach could tolerate. He returned to the living room to see Steve slowly rolling himself around to turn on various lights. Hopper went to preheat the oven and looked back when he heard Eleven ask, “What’s that?”

Steve looked up and followed her curiosity to the main piece of furniture in the room. “It’s a piano.”

He carefully stood and went to slide the cover off the keys. El plopped right on the bench as he demonstrated a brief, senseless melody on the keys. “Make some noise. Try it out. It hasn’t been tuned in ages.”

“Tuned?” she repeated, and pushed a finger over a black key.

“Yeah,” he sighed, sinking down beside her. “Each—these buttons are called ‘keys.’ Don’t ask me why—but each key is meant to make a specific, um,” he took his time around a swallow, trying to figure out how best to explain music, “pitch? Listen.”

His fingers moved down the row, thumb first, as he’d been taught so long ago in a standard, children’s piano lesson. “Hear how the lower keys are on the left and they get higher on the right? Oh. Here.” He pressed a key several times. “Hear that? That’s out of tune. It’s meant to be an even slide…”

He moved his open hand back and forth over the keys, eliciting a toothy grin from her. El had the same kind of smile as Will. Freaking kid just lit up a room. Steve couldn’t help the side of his own mouth from lifting. “Go ahead. Make some noise.”

“How does it tune?” she asked, using her pointer fingers to experiment over the keys.

“Oh, I have to call a guy.” Steve held the piano to rise to his feet. He circled around it to open the lid. “There’s way too much in here for me to know how to fix it.”

She stood to see into the piano, her jaw slackening at the sight of so many wires and wooden pieces. Then all at once, she sat and chirped, “Play music.”

Steve’s eyes widened at her. “I haven’t played since…” He exhaled so his lips flapped. “…I discovered girls—”

“Be decent,” Hopper said flatly from the kitchen.

El frowned over her shoulder at him. “I know what girls are.”

Steve huffed a laugh and came back to sit beside her. “I only meant, I haven’t played since I had more romantic interests than musical ones.”

“So?”

She stared evenly at him, leaving Steve without any good reason not to. “Okay…um. I gotta find it, hang on.”

El waited while he pressed certain keys, trying to find the sounds he remembered. Slowly but surely, his left hand stayed put, while the right moved over the notes of “Funky Town.”

“I don’t know the full song. But it was a big deal since it was the first thing I could play with both hands. My mom always liked this one… It’s also where I peaked.”

Steve played the opening melody of “Africa” by Toto. Eleven giggled to herself. “I like it too. I like the part this hand does.”

“Yeah?” he encouraged, moving his right hand over the lighter, faster moving notes.

“Yeah. They sound like words.” When Steve’s head tilted to process that, she elaborated, “Like…the background’s over there,” she pointed to his left hand, “and the words are over here.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, still moving over the keys like they would move the cogs of his mind. “I can see that, I guess. The song is supposed to have a singer, so I never thought of it like that. You wanna know what I wanted to learn but never got around to?”

She laughed again as he hopped up and went to the shelves of music beside the record player. “My mom _loves_ Cyndi Lauper. Dad can’t stand her, but mom gets her albums on vinyl. Music snobs prefer these over CD’s.”

He tossed the sleeve like a frisbee to her so she could see the bombastic, colorful photos while he lifted the player needle. “Sorry if it’s not your thing, Hopper.”

Both of them looked up as the man said, “I am a man of many tastes. Lauper was always for drunk wine nights, though. I go Blondie over Lauper any day.”

Steve was grinning before he realized it, and had a moment of epiphany that he was talking music with Sheriff Hopper and a lab rat kid. He figured stranger things had happened, and set the needle down on “She Bop.”

Then Blondie’s “Heart of Glass.”

As they waited for the lasagna to cook, Steve laughed at Eleven’s little wiggles. He couldn’t help but ask, “You ever dance? Stand up and let it out.”

The best he could do was twist his waist and do things with his legs like he was in a soda hop, but Eleven giggled and pointed to Hopper. “He does.”

Hopper had his mouth full of crackers, but he waved her to her feet. “C’mere, girlie.”

Steve managed to climb on the bench and sit on the piano, watching the large sheriff dance with tiny Eleven. She kind of just hopped around, but he twirled her and matched her wiggles with little twists of his body. Steve sang along to the music until Eleven tugged him off the piano. He stumbled on his feet, but she hugged around his middle, steadying him.

“Thanks, sorry,” he said under the music, but she was smiling and reaching for his hands again. Hell, he couldn’t blame her wanting to dance. She saved the world. “Seriously, thanks. For everything.”

Her lips closed but her smile didn’t leave. Her eyes might’ve been a little bit wet, but she nodded, and Steve couldn’t be sure if he saw tears there or not. He didn’t know how often she had heard anyone say _Thank you_ or _I’m sorry_.

He held up a finger to tell her to wait, and went to the light switch. The living room was more an entertainment space than a family room. It had the piano and record player, not a television or VCR. So the dimmer switch for the warm white lights, and the magenta bulbs hidden along the shelves somehow made sense. He flicked a light switch, and electricity surged to the corresponding socket, giving the room a purpley-pink glow on one side.

“Back when my parents were actually cool, they added stupid things like this.”

Hopper stood slack-jawed until he openly laughed, but not out of judgment. “A little disco never hurt anybody.”

At the risk of the room spinning, Steve jumped onto the coffee table and moved to the beat. El let out a sound of glee and leapt onto the couch. Hopper rolled his fists over each other, staying on the floor like a proper adult.

The morning felt blissfully far away. The room slowly filled with the smells of his mother’s cooking even if she was far away too. The piano may have been broken, but Steve finally felt like he was getting a little back in tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised happier things around the corner right??? Headcanon in this au that Steve teaches Eleven how to dance before the Snowball~~ I know I'll be incorporating modern music technology/sound in this eventually but for now, I'm sticking with 80s hits haha
> 
> If you want a musical vibe, mine tonight is between "Prisoner" by Miley Cyrus/Dua Lipa and "Fever" by Dua Lipa/Angela <3
> 
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